Finding Wicked

by Kathryn L. James

  She nodded and pointed toward another door across the room. “Your office adjoins Mr. Mitchell’s. In the corner, there’s a closet with a place to hang your coat and shelves to store whatever you like, and you’ll also find a small refrigerator and a cabinet filled with snacks. If you let me know what you like, I can have it delivered by this afternoon.”

  Speechless, I blinked hard.

  She pointed to the opposite corner. “You have a private bathroom with a nice dressing area and another small closet to keep a change of clothes.”

  Unable to contain myself a second longer, I blurted out, “This is not what I was expecting at all. I mean it’s lush, amazing, and…crazy. What kind of assistant has an office like this?”

  She let out a soft laugh, letting her shoulders relax. “An executive assistant who works for Mr. Mitchell, that’s what kind. Wait until you see his office—he has penthouse-like amenities.”

  “As in he sleeps here?”

  “On occasion after working late into the night, he’s too tired to go home. He has the works—small kitchen, living area, master bedroom, and bathroom. I saw it once, when the painter came. There’s also a bar inside his office. Perks of being the boss—get to drink on the job if you want. Speaking of Mr. Mitchell, I need to be at my desk before he returns. Is there anything you need before I head back?”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

  Sinking down in the high back, cream leather chair, I pivoted the mouse, making the screen flicker to life. Immediately, lime green text scrolled across: GARRETT MITCHELL IS A BASTARD WITH SMALL DICK SYNDROME!

  I leaned my head back against the headrest and let out a chuckle.

  “I assume after you get your kicks, you’ll find a better screensaver.” Without warning, Garrett’s deep voice rang out, and he clearly did not find the message cute at all.

  The laughter died on my lips as I grew still, hand frozen on the mouse. I opened my mouth to apologize but then clamped it shut again.

  He studied my face for endless seconds before a lazy smile brushed the corners of his mouth. He had a perfect God’s-gift-to-women face, and I couldn’t wrench my eyes away from him.

  Focus, Brooke. You need to fucking focus.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good. I’ll be out of the office the rest of the afternoon, and we’ll start at seven tomorrow morning.”

  Chapter 2

  At exactly seven AM, I stepped off the elevator into a dim corridor. First to arrive, I flipped the light switch on and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror lining the wall behind the reception area.

  I wore a button-up white blouse, my usual below-the-knee black pencil skirt, and modest low-heeled shoes. It dawned on me that I didn’t own a single jacket or suit, and I made a mental note to drop by the mall that afternoon so I could dress the part for my new position.

  When I stepped inside my office, the door between mine and Mr. Mitchell’s stood open and the lights were on. The sound of footsteps drifted through as I put my purse inside the drawer of the desk.

  His voice thundered. “Seven is when we begin, not the time you arrive. Grab something to take notes on and come here. We need to get started.”

  Clearly, he hadn’t gotten up on the same side of the happy world I had—or maybe he needed a dose of coffee with extra caffeine.

  “Good morning to you too,” I called out.

  When I stepped through the doorway, my breath whooshed out of my lungs. His loosened gray tie hung down the center of his chest, the top button of his shirt was undone and his sleeves were pushed up his arms, displaying his corded forearms like he’d already put in a day’s work.

  “Have a seat.” He pointed a shiny silver pen at the chairs across from him, directing me to take a seat.

  Delicious sin.

  I swallowed hard, trying to wet the dryness in my throat.

  In case you’ve forgotten, you don’t like men. You don’t care for sex, and even if you did, this one is off limits.

  “First, let’s cover some high-priority ground rules. Keep my schedule straight. No one enters my office without an appointment. I never take phone calls unless I’m expecting them. Greta manages the occasional traffic coming off the elevator, at times directing them to you, if they even make it to our floor. Questions so far?”

  “No. Crystal clear.”

  “The rest of the week, we start at seven. Tomorrow, there’s a conference call in my office at eight regarding the purchase of La Amory Sands. In two weeks, plan on flying with me to St. Thomas. The closing date is tentatively scheduled for next month after we review the inspection disclosures on site.”

  Power rolled off him, filling the room with his intensely dominant presence. I barely kept up, jotting down notes, important dates, and timelines, because everything about him wreaked havoc on my senses. I was in unfamiliar territory, but I was determined that the laws of attraction didn’t apply to me; I simply didn’t allow it.

  But…his intoxicating scent and the pure raw maleness emulating from him said otherwise. I didn’t want to feel the way I did. I didn’t want to feel the unwanted attraction, but the huskiness in his voice alone was enough to lure me toward him like a fly to the trap of a silky spun spider web.

  I gripped the pen tighter, forcing the words to paper, trying to convince myself I could do this. I could succeed in this position and pretend he didn’t affect me in the least.

  When he paused, I kept my focus on the notepad, waiting for additional direction. Seconds ticked by in the stretch of silence.

  “Anything else, Mr. Mitchell?”

  “Garrett.”

  “If that’s all—”

  “Over at The Valencia, you have full access to the day spa and salon. For functions requiring formal dress, you’ll have designer gowns to choose from in the boutique. Greta can make all of your appointments.”

  Holy shit!

  The Valencia was the hotel of all hotels located in the heart of Dallas, owned by Mitchell Enterprises. I’d never even set foot inside the luxurious establishment—a meal at the restaurants inside cost more than my monthly electricity bill.

  “Thank you.” I finally mustered the courage to look at him.

  Rich, almost espresso eyes met mine, and I felt an unwanted warmth settle in my veins. It had been two years since I’d felt the flutter of butterflies in my stomach, and they were as unwanted now as they’d been back then.

  If you need to get laid, Brooke, there are plenty of hungry fish in the sea, but for God’s sake…not him. It can’t be him.

  “If you’re ready, we can take a tour of the floor.”

  “I really should change that screensaver before I take the time to look around,” I blurted out, sure my skin pinkened with the flush creeping into my cheeks.

  His lips curved into a grin as he leaned back in the chair, watching me intently. He had a sexy-as-sin smile. “It was my understanding you were going to do that last night.”

  “It slipped my mind.”

  “Celeste DeAlante, my former assistant, threatened to file a sexual harassment suit. Discussion of anything regarding that situation is closed, and there is no truth in the allegations. Let me know if you find any other handiwork she left behind.” His phone buzzed, and a displeased frown etched lines across his forehead as he pressed the intercom. “Yes?”

  Greta’s voice came through. “I’m sorry to interrupt sir, but Salvatore Brovinelli has requested to change the teleconference to ten this morning. He had an unexpected family emergency and has to catch a flight for Madrid later this afternoon.”

  Garrett glanced at his watch and blew out a deep breath. “Shit! Two hours to get this done. Call Jennings, see if he can make it, and set up the conference room.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Jennings is my attorney, and Salvatore is the realtor for the purchase of La Amory Sands,” Garrett explained to me.

  My pulse pounded in my ears. I didn’t have a clue what to exp
ect, having only been his assistant for less than a day, but I’d meant it when I said I didn’t know how to fail. Squaring my shoulders, I blew out a deep breath, ready for my baptism by fire.

  “Other than taking notes, do you have any other expectations of me during the meeting?”

  “Take damn good notes. Have Greta show you where to find the conference room. For now, I need to sort through some pertinent documents.”

  He whirled around, opening a file drawer in the credenza behind him. Placing a thick folder on his desk, he began flipping through pages while wearing a scowl, clearly on an important mission.

  “Mr. Mitchell, I can sort if you tell me what you need.” I walked around the corner of his desk, coming to his side.

  “Garrett,” he corrected, cocking his head to the side. “Find all the documents needing signatures—they should be highlighted. Separate the ones that have already been executed. You’ll have more room to work at the table.”

  I took the assignment over to the oblong glass table across the room as he began tapping away on the keyboard of his laptop.

  “Thought you might need this.” Greta held up two cups of coffee.

  “Thanks Greta. Jennings on his way?”

  “Yes, sir. He’ll be here in thirty minutes.” She placed a cup in front of me along with a couple packets of sugar and cream. “I wasn’t sure how you like your coffee.”

  “This is fine, thanks.” Nodding, I kept sorting the files. “If Celeste couldn’t file better than this, you should have let her go a long time ago. Only an idiot would mix pending with executed documents.”

  Greta blocked my view from Garrett, but the sounds of the keyboard clicking ceased. Glimmers of amusement flashed in her eyes as she sucked in her lips, trying to conceal a smile before she exited the room.

  “What? She clearly didn’t know the basics of organization. Four papers requiring attention mixed in with two hundred that don’t is completely idiotic. She could have at least flagged them with a tab.”

  “I’ll have to remember to get you to show me how to file so my next assistant won’t be tempted to call me an idiot.” Annoyance filled his tone.

  I paled, staring at him in bewilderment. “You did this? CEOs aren’t supposed to file papers. For God’s sake, you pay people to do that.”

  “Just keep working.”

  Way to go, Brooke. You’ve succeeded in agitating your new boss twice now.

  Just then, I saw a figure on a copy of the earnest money contract. Sale: twenty-six million, monies put up for escrow: three million.

  Who has three million dollars on hand?

  I closed the folder. “If you don’t need anything else, I’ll go see if I can help Greta get the conference room ready.”

  “She can do her job. I pay you to do yours. Grab your tablet and make sure you’re logged on and ready to go. I’ll join you soon.”

  I stared at him for a moment. His tense jaw ticked, and he was one hundred percent in business mode. It was like watching a lion stalking around his den, daring anything to fuck with him.

  Leaving him alone, I waltzed into my office and stopped at the corner of my desk, taking in the spectacular view of the city. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the calming beauty soothed some of the annoyance eating away at me. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I closed my eyes and exhaled a slow breath.

  “Glad you could make it on short notice.” Garrett’s voice rumbled through the open door.

  “You owe me. I had to cancel a lunch date.”

  Garrett let out a laugh and said something I couldn’t make out, but I was pretty sure I heard something about a woman in their conversation. Gathering my tablet, paper, and a pen, I headed toward the conference room.

  “My new assistant will be joining us.”

  “Already replaced Celeste?” the deep voice asked with a serious tone. I should have walked away, but my feet were molded to the floor as if cemented in place.

  “She’s temporary, on loan from the marketing department, nothing more.”

  “Then I shouldn’t have to worry about you dating this one, right? Or lavishing her with gifts and trying to persuade her to have sex with you?”

  “We both know I didn’t date Celeste. I didn’t fuck her, and I didn’t lavish her with anything. I don’t date my employees, especially this one.”

  “That’s what you said last time, yet I had to prepare an affidavit for her to sign, and you paid her six figures to make the problem go away. All I’m saying is this time, keep your eyes open and your pants zipped.”

  “Speaking to you as my attorney, I learned a valuable lesson. To my friend, shut the fuck up. She’s here to do a job, and you can relax because she’s not my type—wears blouses buttoned to the top, skirts that are too long, and probably boring white cotton panties underneath. Not. My. Type.”

  The rest of their conversation was cut off as the door closed behind them, and I was left steaming. Clenching the items in my hands, my fingers blanched.

  How dare he talk about me!

  Being referred to as mundane shouldn’t have mattered to me, but it did. His opinion should have rolled right off my shoulders, but instead my cheeks stung as if I’d been slapped. All this time I’d been happy living my life as a plain Jane; it was what I wanted, what I wanted all men to think of me.

  I shouldn’t have given one ounce of a fuck what he thought of my looks. I dressed business conservative, and I knew my qualifications. The only thing that should have mattered was the job he’d hired me to do.

  Garrett Mitchell was nothing more than a signature on my paycheck. If he thought of me as boring, then I’d done my job—and yet, my teeth were clenched as I stewed, all in a tizzy.

  When I passed Greta perched at her desk, she gave me wink. “Show ’em what you got.”

  “I’m planning on it,” I said, venom running hot in my blood.

  A middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and striking blue eyes sat to Garrett’s right. He was focused on making a note on his legal pad when I walked into the room.

  Lifting his head, his welcoming smile faded as he stared, shifting to a look of almost astonishment. Several seconds passed before he stood and offered his hand across the table.

  “You must be Mr. Jennings. I’m Brooke, temporary assistant for Mr. Mitchell.” I smiled as I slid my hand between his.

  “Jennings Lockwood, and please call me Jennings. I apologize for staring, but you remind of someone. What did you say your last name is?” He stretched his neck to the side, gaze trained on mine.

  “I didn’t, but it’s Sheridan.” I sat down, opened the tablet, and penciled in the day’s date on my notepad.

  “Any chance you’re from Austin?”

  Looking up, I noticed the puzzled look on Garrett’s face as he eyed Jennings.

  “I’ve lived in Dallas my entire life except for my college days. When I graduated, I was lucky enough to land a job in the marketing department here, allowing me to move back home.”

  Greta buzzed in on the intercom. “Mr. Brovinelli is on line one.”

  “Thank you.” Garrett pressed the button on the phone, still staring at Jennings. “Salvatore, I have Jennings and my assistant ready.”

  The call lasted for a little more than thirty minutes as they discussed the inspection report in detail. I learned the resort consisted of a primary hotel with over two hundred rooms, twelve luxurious bungalows sitting over the water, and a host of other five-star amenities.

  “That went well. Thanks again Jennings.” Garrett looked in my direction. “Good job, Brooke.”

  I abruptly stood with my things in hand, and my damn tongue couldn’t stop itself. “I guess it’s a good thing it doesn’t really matter if I wear turtlenecks or tank tops, skirts to the floor or up to my ass, black lace or boring white cotton panties to do a good job. Mr. Lockwood, it might be a good idea to educate Mr. Mitchell on keeping his mouth shut one more time!”

  I marched out, leaving Garrett with a dark scowl and
Jennings rolling in his seat with laughter.

  Chapter 3

  Although I tossed and turned all night, I didn’t feel tired. In fact, my nerves were still on edge about what was yet to come. Since the previous day’s fiasco, I hadn’t seen or spoken to Garrett. After I stood up to him, I expected him to follow close behind and tell me to pack my shit and get the fuck out of Mitchell Enterprises. Instead, he never showed.

  One thing was certain: I knew a position with less money was better than no income at all. Transferring back to marketing was the only option I had. I wasn’t a quitter, but no way in hell was it going to work with Garrett Mitchell. He and I clashed like oil and water, and he set my temper ablaze like gasoline on a fire.

  Still seething, I slid the mouse over the mouse pad.

  I don’t own a single pair of boring white cotton underwear, thank you very much!

  Mind made up, I clicked on the new mail tab and began composing a letter to HR, requesting a transfer back to my old position. Working for George was safe territory. I’d never worried about losing my job. I’d known Garrett’s reputation for having a razor-edged temper before accepting, but the dollar signs had convinced me I could handle it. Waves of nausea drifted through my stomach as all the whispered descriptions from the breakroom spiraled in my mind…

  Heart of ice.

  Tin man.

  Intimidating.

  Stubborn.

  One in particular caused another wave of nausea: He’d fire his own mother wearing a smile.

  He had my emotions in a jumbled mess. I hated arrogant men who thought they were God’s gift to women, and though Garrett was definitely a gift, he was one straight from the devil. It had been a long time since my blood had hummed and my knees felt like Jell-O, and this was the first time the juncture of my thighs had throbbed just from looking at someone.

  After hitting send, I frantically dialed Cordelia’s extension. The faster I said farewell to the office on the top floor and slid into my comfort zone, the better. I wasn’t cut out to deal with inappropriate comments from an asshole CEO.

  After the third ring, her long-ass voicemail greeting began. As I tapped my pen on the desk, waiting patiently to leave a message, heavy footsteps barged into my office. I didn’t need to look up—I knew those black Italian leather shoes.